


Not So Slow Fall

by TheWanderingNine



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mages In Training, Not Strictly Lore Based, Slice of Life, The Father-Son Relationship Anduin & Callan Deserved, World of Warcraft Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingNine/pseuds/TheWanderingNine
Summary: Dalaran has recently stipulated that they would like to send a contingent of novice mages to Stormwind in order for them to receive battle training against melee opponents. Stormwind agrees readily enough, but Anduin Lothar is less than enthused to have a gaggle of spell-chuckers swarming his practice yards three months out of the year.





	1. Family

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting (unfinished) on my drive ever since I got around to seeing the Warcraft movie. It's pure, self-indulgent Stormwind slice of life, starring the dad I thought Anduin could be, and of course Khadgar, lol. Not sure what I'll do with this fic, but I thought I'd post it anyways. Just jumping right in!

“By the Light, how much water do a few mages really need?” Lothar mumbled to himself, his eyes scanning over the list of supplies Dalaran provided to help him prepare for their stay.

“Doesn't water replenish their mana? I guess it'd make sense if they need a lot of it, after throwing spells around all day.” Callan plucked the list from Lothar's hand, both eyebrows rising high when he saw how much it was just for the first two weeks worth. He gave a low whistle. “Maybe increase the amount of piss breaks...” he muttered, only half joking.

Lothar snorted. “If they expect special treatment they're going to be sorely disappointed.” He picked his fork back up and jabbed it with more force than necessary into a hunk of turkey meat. From the corner of his eye he saw Callan give him a lop-sided grin.

“No, dad, I daresay they won't know what hit'em.” Callan set the list down on the table, off to the side where it wouldn't get stained by accident. He tucked back into his meal, enjoying the easy quiet in the room as they finished dinner together. It was so rare anymore that the two of them got to spend any time together as just a family, and not as commander and subordinate. Callan never regretted joining the army, but he'd willingly admit that it was stiflingly lonely at times.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Lothar asked, breaking Callan out of his reverie. “You looked a league away just now.”

“Nah, just glad to have dinner with you for once. It's been a long while.” Callan ripped a breadroll in half, bit off a large chunk, and chewed like a cow, smiling cheerily at his father.

Lothar smiled back, shaking his head before he drained what wine was left in his cup. His plate empty now, he stood from the table to carry it over to the tray a servant will be by to collect. “Don't let any of those spell-chuckers hear you say such things,” he grumbled good naturedly.

Turning in his chair, Callan was still finishing his breadroll, one side of his mouth stuffed as he spoke. “What, you mean you don't want any of them to know the Lion of Azeroth _isn't_ always such a hard-ass?”

“Damn right.” Lothar refilled his cup with more wine and returned to his seat at the table. He took several gulps before shifting to slouch more comfortably in his chair. “By the time this is over I want every last one of those mages shaking in their silk slippers.”

Callan shook his head, a sympathetic look on his face. “I feel sorry for them already.”

Raising his cup almost as if to toast what Callan said, Lothar inclined his head. “Now that's what I like to hear. Say, how about a round of cards, hm?”

“Aww, dad, no. _Anything_ but cards,” Callan groaned, slumping down his chair until his head thunked on the backrest. Lothar just laughed as he pulled out a deck from a small drawer in the table and started shuffling.


	2. Early Morning Musings

The very next morning Lothar woke tragically early on purpose. The sun was long yet to even rise as he trudged his way to the local bath-house. It was an older building, but run and kept very well. Most of his officers and recruits used it because it was one of the cheaper houses, and close by. As he slid several coppers across the front counter Lothar grumbled an unintelligible good morning to Stefan, the old man that worked the night hours, and snagged up one of the wicker baskets along the way to the changing room. As early as he was there were only a few other men there, a couple of them he recognized and waved at as he passed by. He stripped, folding his dirty clothes until he had a neat bundle to stow in the basket alongside a clean set for when he was done. Next to the doorway into the wash-room stood a stack of small, worn wooden stools. He plucked up the one on top, and with his washrag and bar of soap he headed in.

The wash-room was large enough to hold potentially dozens of people, with a tall ceiling, small vents placed high to allow excess steam out, and plenty of space to avoid bumping into others as they moved around. Splitting the room into two-thirds were two wooden walls, both as tall as his stomach, with spigots sticking out along both sides. In front of each spigot sat short, wood buckets for people to fill with water and rinse.

Placing his stool down in front of the spigot at the end of one wall he sat and started fiddling with the knobs until he had a comfortably hot stream of water flowing. _Light bless Gnomish ingenuity_ , he thought gratefully as he dumped a bucketful of water over his head. Getting a good lather going, he scrubbed at his scalp, mentally compiling a list of things that he needed to do that day.

First he should stop by the castle's main kitchen to let the head cook, Theresa, know they need to hire on extras for the next three months. Lothar supposed he ought to delegate someone to some of what needed done. Duncan, one of his more reliable drill instructors, could over-see training supply acquisitions easily enough. A trip to the treasurer was needed to make sure Dalaran is reimbursing them the funds for their mages. Then of course there was that phenomenal order of water to place; at least two dozen barrels to start. The stables need to be ready to provide enough horses, setting up the tour, arranging for a second on-hand priest with special training regarding spell related injuries from the Cathedral, and more. Lothar had a very busy day ahead of him indeed.

As he washed his face and beard clean his thoughts strayed to the request included with the missive. Along with a list of things Dalaran claimed would be needed came an official petition for every attending mage, asking that they be given access to the castle's library for the duration of their stay. Lothar supposed this made sense, because he's never met a spell-chucker that wasn't also an insufferable bookworm, but he'd wager a gold piece per mage if they had enough energy at the end of the day to even think about picking up a book before the first month was over. Reaching down blindly until his fingers bumped his bucket full of water, he dumped it over his head to rinse his hair, face, and beard. Oh yes, Lothar very much looked forward to that part of their stay. The thought of putting a bunch of mana users through their paces brought a wide grin to his face as he scrubbed the rest of his body clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't confusing. I like to think Stormwind is a society that has communal bathing, and I based the description here from my own personal experiences at Japanese onsens. It was surprisingly difficult to describe without getting terribly word-y, lol.


	3. Once More Into The Fray

Lothar stood on the other end of the street, staring at the door to the salon. The murmur of the crowd as people went about their business that morning reminded him briefly of the canals late at night, when he couldn't sleep so he'd take a stroll around Old Town, listening to late night bar-goers as he walked slowly along. It wasn't exactly that he _dreaded_ his weekly appointment with Mary-Ann, but she was very headstrong, and it had been a long, tedious week of overseeing preparations. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Lothar mentally steeled himself before weaving his way through passers-by to cross over and open the door.

“Lord-Commander! Welcome, welcome. Right on time, as usual,” Mary-Ann greeted him brightly, a pair of stained leather gloves on her hands as she worked at mixing hair-dye in a clear jar. As Lothar walked up to the front counter he nodded a greeting back, and she strode towards him, her eyes narrowing, assessing the state of his face. Mary-Ann made a chastising tsk noise, “And as usual I see yuh've not been takin' proper care of your beard. Or hair. Light, don't tell me you're still usin' _bar soap_? No, really, don't tell me.”

Lothar watched her shuffle away from him, grumbling softly at her muttered complaints. Every week they went through this same routine, but she did excellent work, so what's a man to do? She meant well though, and he knew her to be an honest, hard working woman. He respected that.

“Here yuh are, Renee,” Mary-Ann set the jar onto another woman's work-station counter, then gestured at Lothar for him to follow her. “Have a seat, Commander. I've got my work cut out for me. We'd best hop to.”

“Are you saying I look worse than normal?” he asked, purposely staggering a bit as his hand flew to his chest. “You wound me deeply.”

Mary-Ann barked with laughter. “Well, not so much worse than usual, I s'pose. But today's the big day, innit? Yuh've got to look your best. Now sit.”

“Yes ma'am.” Lothar snapped a smart salute before dropping himself in a chair in front of a high sitting copper sink. Mary-Ann shook out a clean towel and with a flourish, because Mary-Ann was not one bit above theatrics herself, settled it snugly around his neck. She pushed against his shoulder until he leaned far enough back to rest his neck on the edge of the sink. “So tell me, how're the boys doing?” he asked.

Mary-Ann snorted. As she described the trouble her two sons were up to since his last visit, she thoroughly washed his hair a first time, scratching her nails over his scalp lightly like she knew he loved but would never admit upon pain of death, rinsed, then washed again with that special, soft hair soap she insisted on. Lothar was content to leave her to her family gossip; she seemed happiest when she was grousing about something. Or when she was bossing someone around. He couldn't really decide between the two. She used cold water to wash and rinse, claiming it was better for his hair, which is funny when she leaves him alone for a moment to wring out a steaming wet rag before settling it over the lower half of his face and neck.

Lothar sat there silently, his eyes closed and hands folded over his stomach. She squeezed excess water from his hair with a small, dry towel before combing all the tangles out with a long toothed pick.

“...and Callan would _never_ get up to such nonsense, I'd bet my savin's on it,” she was still saying. Mary-Ann slid the cooling rag off his face, laying it over the lip of the sink. “Alright then, up yuh get.” Lothar complied, allowing her to turn his head this way and that as she covered his cheeks and neck with shaving lather that smelled faintly of sandalwood. In his peripheral he saw her grab up a straight razor, and she slid it over the skin of his neck smoothly. Her movements were confident and deft. As she moved on to his cheek he remembered back to the first time he'd agreed to this; it was difficult for him to trust another person to get that close with a blade. He was so stiff and awkward, yet afterwards genuinely surprised at how well it'd turned out.

Humming to herself Mary-Ann looked his face over critically before nodding and wiping away any stray lather with the wet rag from earlier. Popping open a small glass jar she tipped out a little bit of unscented oil into her other hand, applying it lightly to the thickest part of the beard on his chin. After brushing it through with a boar-bristle brush, she washed the brush and her hands of the oil.

“What say yuh to a bit of a trim, Commander? It's gettin' a bit long,” she asked, pinching a bit of his hair at the end.

“I think not today. I've yet to walk back to the castle. Perhaps next week, though.” Lothar watched her nod, before gesturing for him to follow her to her work-station where a polished silver metal mirror was mounted to the wall.

“Have a look-see, make sure everythin's as yuh like.”

Turning his head to the sides and up, he saw she'd been precise and even. He turned to smile charmingly at her, “Perfect, as always.”

She in turn jut her chin out proudly, looking just a bit smug. “Flatterer,” she accused, but her tone was pleased. “Now then, yuh'll of course be sendin' all those new wizards of yours my way if they be needin' a wash or a trim, won't yuh?” she asked, clearly rhetorical, as Lothar dug out his coin purse.

“Wouldn't dream of recommending anywhere else,” he huffed a laugh, handing over her silver and a tip besides. “And they are not my wizards. Thank you, Mary-Ann. See you next week.”

“And by the Light, man, use some oil in the meantime, won't yuh!” she called at his back as the door closed behind him. Lothar just shook his head in bemusement as he turned down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took it upon myself to Google proper beard care and I gotta tell you I had no idea that it can get so involved. The more you know?


	4. First Impressions

“Good morning, Anduin,” Taria smiled warmly, clearly amused as she watched Lothar stride over to stand next to her, finishing his rather obnoxious and obviously fake yawn. He blinked in an over-exaggerated way, as if he'd only just rolled out of bed, but he knew she wasn't fooled in the least. Sat beside her Llane shook his head, but he was smiling as well.

“I suppose good enough,” Lothar replied, breathed deeply, then heaved a great sigh as if greatly put upon. Duncan came in the same way as him a moment later, bowed to Taria and Llane, then stood at his other side at a relaxed parade rest.

Taria looked briefly sky-ward, as if silently asking the Light to grant her the patience to deal with her obstinate brother this day, or at least through the rest of the morning. “None of that, now, Anduin. Need I remind you this is an official delegation from Dalaran, and they deserve every respect?”

“Yes, of course. Every respect. Do you have so little faith in me?” Lothar joked.

“More like I know you all too well...” Taria muttered, though loud enough to be heard clearly. He flashed her a wide grin, almost as if to say _you've got me there, sis_. He then winked playfully at Varian sitting on the other side of Llane before schooling his expression into one of polite attendance.

It was quiet in the throne room aside from the faint birdsong coming from the direction of the gardens. The morning was bright and warm, sunlight filtering in through the high stained windows. Usually they'd all be waiting for an announcement of the arrival of their guests, however this time, in typical dramatic fashion as mages are won't to do, Dalaran's delegation planned on teleporting directly into the throne room. _No need for a courier or escort_ , the missive has specified, _just be prepared by the ninth hour_. 

In the distance everyone heard the tolling of the cathedral's clock striking the hour. At the eighth toll, Lothar felt the air pressure in the throne room suddenly change. He felt it in his ears; swallowing reflexively they popped, clearing, and he completely missed the ninth toll as a bright, blue-white flash of light forced him to squint his eyes closed for a moment.

His hand reflexively reaching to his sword, he gripped the pommel, but stopped himself from drawing it. Duncan and the guardsmen followed his lead, reacting the same way, and he forced himself to remove his hand and stand at rest again. His guards all followed suit. In the middle of the suddenly crowded floor stood a large, finely dressed group of mages, each of them with one hand holding onto the shoulder of the person in front of them, and stuffed packs or staves in their other hand. Sweeping his eyes over each individual, Lothar quickly assessed whether or not any of them were a potential threat. Most of them were dressed in extravagant robes, a few bejeweled wands strapped to their sashes. Lothar's gaze swept over them all until he made it to the front, and there he recognized one staff in particular, though not the person holding it.

A young, full-faced man with a mop of side-swept brown hair and a beard trying its damndest to grow stepped forward far enough to distinguish himself from the group. He was dressed significantly more drab than the others with his serviceable tunic, trousers, and plain woolen cloak. He held one hand to his chest, and the other brazenly clicked the butt of Atiesh against the stone floor as he bowed deeply from the waist.

“King Llane Wrynn and Queen Taria Wrynn of Stormwind, I greet you and offer thanks on behalf of the Kirin Tor for allowing us entrance into your city,” he announced grandly enough, then straightened. He smiled winsomely up at the throne. “I am Khadgar, Guardian Novitiate, and official Ambassador of Dalaran for this delegation. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintances.” Llane and Taria rose from their thrones in tandem, little Varian hurrying to rise also, then offered respectful bows of their heads.

“It is an honor to receive you,” Llane said. “You are all welcome in Stormwind, though I must say I'm rather surprised the Guardian Novitiate is our Ambassador. You also carry Atiesh?” It was a somewhat challenging question to ask first off, but Lothar could hear Llane kept his tone purely curious. He was certainly wondering about that.

Ambassador Khadgar simply grinned, like he was enjoying a private joke. Lothar could have sworn this guy actually _glowed_ with mirth, but was probably just the light from the windows. He took a measured breathe and kept his expression neutral. “Yes, that. Medivh said you'd ask, but not to worry, I carry it with his blessing. In fact, I have letters! Where did I put...” he trailed off as he shoved his hand inside his cloak, clearly searching for something. “Ah ha! Here they are.” The Ambassador pulled out a thick stack of envelopes, brandishing them triumphantly. “Alongside being his apprentice I also happen to be his runner,” he chuckled lightly. “Medivh's written to you, and conveniently bade me deliver them. 'Considering the convenience and all,' he told me.”

Lothar suppressed a growl of annoyance at the sheer pluck of this chatty brat as he strolled on up towards the king and queen of Stormwind with never a by-your-leave.

“Let's see, letters for King Llane and Queen Taria, of course,” The Ambassador said, mostly to himself, as he checked the envelopes over and handed them out accordingly. “That one there is for Prince Varian. And then there's a letter for Anduin Lothar,” he finished, stepping towards and holding out Lothar's envelope, somehow knowing precisely who he was though this is their first time meeting.

“That's _Lord-Commander Lothar_ to you,” he emphasized as he snatched up the letter. He flipped it from one side to the other, but all it had written on it was his name in Medivh's script.

“My apologies, _Lord-Commander_ ,” The Ambassador demurred, though he looked like he was fighting a smile as he bowed politely and then moved back to his group of mages.

In his peripheral Lothar saw Taria stifle quiet laughter behind her hand before clearing her throat to get everyone's attention. “Kind of you to deliver our letters, Ambassador. Thank you. As part of your welcome to Stormwind we've prepared a tour for your delegation. If you'll just follow our master at arms, Duncan,” she gestured towards where Duncan was stood, “he'll take you to get your people settled beforehand.”

“That sounds great. Thank you, your majesties. We look forward to our stay.” Ambassador Khadgar bowed from the waist one more time before turning to gesture for his group of mages to follow him. Lothar watched them filter out of the throne room after Duncan with only a slight frown.

Stepping down from her seat, Taria paused by him, placing her hand on his shoulder pauldron. “That boy is going to be trouble,” she warned, but the expression on her face told him she was _looking forward_ to it. Then she turned towards her husband, slipping an arm through his and holding out her hand for Varian to take. “Come, let's take a stroll through the gardens, honey.” And just like that they walked away, not seeming worried in the least.

 _Light help me_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes everything I had already written, I just needed to edit them a bit before posting. Future updates are going to be a bit slower now.


End file.
